Chapter 14: The Forced Alliance
Elvas stood on the training ground, his chest tight, his eyes darting frantically to his new teammates. He couldn't believe his devastating luck. Of all the people in Avalon, he was stuck with them.
Marcus and Auran—the two individuals who despised him most, his greatest enemies—were now standing on either side of him like a curse he couldn't shake off.
"Why does it have to be them?" he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw as he desperately tried to find a sliver of calm.
He moved to his designated spot, gathering his sword and his limited supply of weapons. His hands were steady, but his muscles were coiled with tension. The polished metal of his blade glinted under the pale morning light, and for a brief, furious second, he imagined it slicing through every sneer and insult he'd suffered since arriving at Avalon.
A sudden, forceful shove jolted his body forward. His sword slipped from his numb grip and clattered against the ground with a sharp, echoing clang.
"Oops," a voice drawled from behind him. "Didn't see you standing there."
A mocking, cruel laugh followed.
Elvas turned, his eyes narrowing instantly. Marcus stood there, his grin wide, his red eyes glowing faintly with amusement and malice.
"Watch where you're going, demon boy," Marcus said with a cold smirk, his voice dripping with arrogance.
Elvas offered no verbal response. He simply stared at Marcus for a long moment, his jaw set tight, then knelt to retrieve his sword. His own tired eyes, faint scars, and growing determination stared back at him from the polished steel.
He gripped the hilt tightly and whispered, "Today, I prove I am strong enough."
Standing again, he slid the sword back into its sheath and took a deep, steadying breath. The air was cool, but his body burned with resolve.
He walked to join his team—Team B, though everyone mockingly called them the Night Claws. The name alone made him cringe.
"Whoever came up with that name deserves a beating," he muttered, shaking his head.
The rest of the mission group gathered near the starting point. Auran stood stiffly at the front, his pack close behind, their movements precise and sharp, like trained soldiers. Marcus leaned lazily against a rock, arms crossed, feigning total disinterest.
Coach Red stepped forward, his scarred face grimly cast in shadow. His voice boomed over the field.
"You are ready now," he said simply. "Go get me the head of that beast."
No dramatic speech. No encouragement. Just a clear, unwavering order. That was Red's way.
The two teams split, each heading in separate directions. Boots thudded against the dirt, blades clinked softly, and a low, nervous energy crackled in the air.
Elvas fell into step behind Auran's group, his heart hammering against his ribs. Each step felt heavier than the one before, burdened by the surrounding hatred.
Then, a faint sound echoed only in his head.
[System: Host heart rate 50%.]
He froze mid-step. Red text flashed briefly in front of his vision, glowing faintly against the pale sky.
"Fifty percent?" he muttered under his breath. "Is that high? Am I already freaking out or something?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "Great. I'm actively talking to myself now."
He pushed forward, forcing his legs to keep moving. His sword felt heavier on his back, and the oppressive silence around him made every rustle of dry grass sound louder than it should.
They soon entered an open field, the ground cracked and sparse, the wind carrying the faint, unsettling smell of metal and dust.
Auran stepped forward, taking point with a confident stance, his voice loud enough to carry. "Today, we make absolutely sure we get that head," he commanded. "We prove what Night Claws really means."
Elvas remained quiet, simply observing.
Marcus, who had been lounging nearby, snorted audibly. "Night Claws?" he repeated with a condescending smirk. "What a pathetic joke. Now we're suddenly supposed to listen to a dog?"
He pushed off the rock and walked closer to Auran, his voice cold and cutting. "Who exactly gave you the right to lead, mutt?"
Auran's eyes flashed a dangerous gold. He surged forward, his claws flexing and extending slightly as he spoke. "You have issues, bloodsucker? You want this dog to rip your face open?"
The tension snapped taut between them. The rest of the small team instantly stepped back, watching anxiously, unsure if they should dare to interfere.
Elvas's pulse spiked. He stepped forward quickly before the confrontation could escalate.
"Stop it," he said sharply. "Coach Red ordered us to work together, not fight each other."
Both Marcus and Auran instantly turned toward him, their eyes dark with shared, unified anger. For a terrifying second, the intense hostility that had been focused on each other shifted—and landed entirely on him instead.
Marcus walked over, slow and deliberately menacing. His eyes locked onto Elvas's, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm. "Never tell me what to do, demon," he hissed.
Elvas held his ground, though his heart was a wild drum. "I'm not—"
Marcus cut him off, shoving his shoulder violently. "Never again, you hear me?" he said, his tone rising to a yell.
The powerful hit made Elvas stumble a full step back. His shoulder throbbed with pain, but he didn't flinch or fall.
Marcus smirked, satisfied with the physical dominance he had asserted, then brushed past him, his boots crunching loudly on the dry dirt. "Let's go, mutt," he called over his shoulder. "We've got a beast to kill."
Auran growled deeply but followed, his pack close behind.
Elvas adjusted the position of his sword, his jaw tight with suppressed rage, and grimly fell in line behind them.
Every step felt heavy with dread, but he didn't slow down.
Trapped with enemies, he thought bitterly. This is just perfect.
He glanced at the forest ahead, the dark, tangled trees waiting like bared teeth. Somewhere in that suffocating darkness, the creature called Medasu was also waiting.
And if they didn't find a way to work together, one of them might never make it back alive.
Elvas exhaled, steadying his entire being. "Whatever happens," he muttered under his breath, "I will survive this mission."
The dysfunctional team kept walking, their figures fading slowly into the treacherous distance—moving toward the place the Medasu waited.